Silence lingered, thick. Then Gwen’s grin crept back, sly and secretive. He shot a glance at the door, rose, and slid the latch into place. When he turned again, his voice was hushed, almost conspiratorial. “Forget waiting for your mystery armor to make up its mind,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got something better. A journey. I’m leaving soon—and I want you with me.” Before Heracles could reply, Gwen’s space ring pulsed. A roll of brittle parchment shimmered into view, landing on the table with a soft thud. Heracles narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?” “A map.” Gwen unrolled it carefully, the parchment cracking faintly with age. His finger pressed to the center. “Here. Aurelia Isle. The old tales call it the Isle of the Sky-Beasts.” Heracles leaned in. The island’s outline was uncanny—an eagle’s head carved into the sea, beak jutting east, the rest of it adrift and alone in endless waters. “And here’s us,” Gwen added, tapping the coast on the far edge of the parchment. Heracles frowned...
IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR HERACLES, THE GOD OF POWER IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY AS YOU KNOW IT, THIS IS NOT THE PLACE YOU SHOULD GO.